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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157165">please don't go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayfaredsoldier/pseuds/wayfaredsoldier'>wayfaredsoldier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>1917 (Movie 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, I'm in my feels, M/M, just pure angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:15:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayfaredsoldier/pseuds/wayfaredsoldier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is back home after surviving the war, but he religiously washes his hands with tears in his eyes because he feels like Tom's blood is still stained into his hands.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Blake &amp; William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>please don't go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from: please don't go - barcelona</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's been a year that Will was home. A year since the war ended. A year since he had lost his best friend. It's been so long and yet he could never erase the image of Tom's pale blue face, of his voice breaking as he asks the question that replays in Will's mind like a broken record - am I dying? The breaking of his voice was enough to break Will's heart completely, and all he could do was hold onto him for as long as he was breathing, blood staining his hands, dyeing his fingernails and taking its permanent place. And when Tom took his last breath, he also took Will's sanity. </p><p>It was safe for him to admit that during the war, Tom was his breath of fresh air away from the muddy smell and burnt artillery of the trenches. He was his ray of light during the gloomy days, and he longed that when he awoke from his usual nap by the tree in his backyard that he would see Tom lying there next to him, helmet covering his eyes and delicate hands clasped over his abdomen. 

He always looked so peaceful. Even after he died, Will couldn't help but gaze upon his soft features. The brown of his hair, the curls that brushed his forehead that Will always wanted to push out of the way, and the hands he only had the chance to hold in his final moments. It looked as if he was simply sleeping. It had pained him. It had hit him hard. So hard that the image of Tom in his final moments are all that played in his mind, in his dreams. He always thinks of when he attempted to wipe his blood away on the grass. Which in turn urges him to wash his hands thoroughly under the illusion that Tom's blood was still there. </p><p>It started a few days after he had returned home to his wife and children. Things were okay until one night he had a particularly vivid dream about a particular brown haired young man. He had awoken abruptly, heartbeat racing, and hands clammy. He sat up to rub his eyes and recoiled in horror, waking his wife, when he looked at them. They were stained red. Without a beat, he ran to the sink and began scrubbing his hands raw, but all he saw was red. His wife had followed him in a bit of worry. </p><p>"William, dear, what's wrong?" </p><p>"Blood. So much blood on my hands." He muttered and she looked down at his hands and she understood quickly. </p><p>"William," she reached for his arm, "there is no blood my love." She tried tugging him away but he pulled away from her. </p><p>"Can't you see?! It's everywhere!" He had yelled.</p><p>His daughters were awakened at the sound and soon joined their mother's side as Will continued to scrub his hands furiously until his body began trembling, hands shaking, and vision growing blurred as his eyes welled with tears that began to stream down his face. Tom. Tom was all he could see after that. He dropped the soap and slumped down to his knees, sobs wracking his body as he muttered apologies. His wife was soon at his side, cupping his face and forcing him to look at her. But all Will could see was Tom. </p><p>"It's okay, Will. Everything's okay." And all he could hear was the soft accent that was Tom's. But in that moment, it was a comforting sound. It instantly soothed him. His sobs turned into silent tears and his body stopped its trembling and he sunk into his wif- Tom's hand on his cheek. </p><p>"I'm sorry." He whispered. </p><p>"It's alright, Will." He covered the hand on his cheek. </p><p>"I'm sorry, Tom." Tom didn't say anything, but a soft smile was playing out on his lips. Will went back to sleep. And it wasn't until he had woken up the morning after that he realized it was his wife that had been comforting him and not Tom. As much as he wished it was, massive guilt washed over him. He walked into the kitchen where his wife greeted him with a sad smile on her face. Will knew her enough to understand how she felt. He smiled back and turned to see his youngest daughter. She had asked him if he was okay. He said he was fine and that it would pass. Of course, he wasn't just saying that to his daughter, but to convince himself of that false hope. </p><p>He was never fully fine. He was never getting past it. He knows that now after a year. Things may have settled to the point where he can calmly get up from bed, from the chair he sits on, or from lying down against his tree to wash his hands with silent tears until Tom comes back to comfort him. Which of course, was actually his wife. He had tried to fight it, to see through to his wife, but whenever Tom left, things were worse. Tom's voice was louder almost like blood curdling screams, his eyes sadder, and Will's guilt was stronger than ever. He just couldn't let go of Tom. His breath of fresh air from the trenches. His ray of light on the gloomy days. The young man he grew to love, couldn't save. </p><p>He knew it hurt his wife that he only saw the young soldier of whom he never speaks about, comforting him and not her. But she accepted it with a great sadness. If she couldn't help him, she knew the young soldier could. She knew that seeing him was when he was happiest. That is why she had never given him the medicine that the doctor gave to her. She's seen how he was whenever the young soldier went away. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, and when he did sleep, he woke up thrashing, sobbing, yelling out for the young man and began washing his hands until they turned red and not from the blood he was imagining. </p><p>She loved him enough to stay and help him. Even if all he saw was the young man that he never speaks about.</p><p>So, when she walked over to the tree he was sleeping at, an arm over his eyes and hand closed tightly over his abdomen, she smiled and gently woke him to tell him it was dinner time. Immediately, his eyes had fixated frantically at the spot next to him. She put a gentle hand on his cheek and pulled his attention to her and she smiled. Instantly, he smiled and his blue eyes lit up. A shot of pain surged through her because she knew. Just like that first night it had happened. </p><p>"Hello, Will." She said softly, and he leaned into her hand.</p><p>"Hi, Tom." He whispered.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading. i wrote this purely to get my emotions out. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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